Fatherly Complexions
by 9E-tan
Summary: <html><head></head>He couldn't quite put his finger on that feeling; but it may be just the small sting on his shin that he received from the brat beside him. "Hey, old man, what're you doing, looking at me like I'm some pitiful puppy? Want me to kick you where it counts?"</html>


**Disclaimer: I don't own KHR. If I did, Mukuro would not have gay earrings. No offense, but c'mon, earrings? Something more original, please. =.=**

**Genre: **Family/ Hurt/Comfort

* * *

><p><em>Fatherly Complexions<em>

_._

_._

_._

There's a sort of feeling that he knows, but he just can't seem to put his finger on it. It's a real shame, since he deemed himself the master of words, of decorum, and disguise.

_(That never stops her from calling him a walking thesaurus, and piling him with her English homework.) _

It's a relief that she looks a lot like his beloved Chrome, lest he may strangle her, woman or not.

Yes, he was not a man of mercy; the leather gloves were mainly for show. They were, after all, a cover for his tainted hands.

Nevertheless, he doesn't stop thinking about what that specific word may be. It drives him insane.

Had it been ten years ago, he would have laughed at his pathetic self, struggling against the non-existent triviality that humans called 'emotions'. Really, it was overrated; the only emotions he set aside were for watching Saturday soap operas. _(It was a strange creation; Mukuro deemed it one of his favorite things on the filthy earth. Screaming mothers and dramatic parent-children relationships were truly pathetic. He got a kick from watching humans reenact scenes of 'heartwarming'.)_

He still goes around with his _(the term that she uses is 'mind-rapery'; it befuddles him how a young child would fathom the idea of 'rape'),_ smoothing out the rough edges of the Mafia. It was all, of course, for his own benefit; 35-year old Sawada Tsunayoshi was just too endearing. He was paid to do what he thrived for. _(-Mind rape, she interjects.)_

Mukuro silences her with a flick on her small forehead.

Personally, he would have dismembered her by now, castrating her in the cleanest way possible _(he was a gentleman after all)_, but circumstances would not allow him to take the pleasure of doing so. Especially the foreboding fear of getting his dear Chrome infuriated; women were truly fearsome creatures. He would give them that much.

Still, it irks him to stare back at those cool grey eyes, resembling that irritating, good-for-nothing, overly-pompous Head Prefect (who somehow graduated from the pitiful high school). Well, it's a tad bit comforting to know that his previous retainer is in the care of an economically stable man, yet Mukuro questions the Cloud Guardian's mentality.

_(And in doing so, he receives a sharp kick to the shins from the ungrateful brat beside him.)_

How could anyone blame him? Though he does admit that he may not be the most consistent with society's perspectives _(didn't Albert Einstein himself proclaim that there existed no genius without a hint of madness?) _he doubts that the existence of the very man (_and his pedophilic interests in cute things) _is morally acceptable.

Nevertheless, as the Mist Guardian, it was never his duty to actively participate in the lives of others, but cloak the unnecessary details. So he does just that and carries on with his life.

But hiding never reveals the truth.

So he ponders, restlessly, _(because he has a lot of spare time on his hands. It's a good thing that mentally scarring your opponents takes less time than those savage men who swing their fists around) _on the floor, thinking about what that word could be.

His façade of being an enigmatic character seems to slip in this demented logic she holds around her own universe. Being bested by a mere child; but then again, this was no ordinary child.

"Hey, old man, when are you going to stop having a little reverie in the middle of the living room? It's unsightly; you look like a stale pineapple that people threw out since it came in the wrong time."

Mukuro's eyebrow twitches slightly, but he makes no move to threaten her; why, he's a gentleman. And even corrupt illusionists know not to taint the mind of precious 7 year-old girls. Instead, he looks up from the written report in his hands and gives her a smile.

"Oya, that's a little harsh, isn't it, my dear under-developed child?" He truly was a master of words. "You know, you better do something about that bitter personality of yours, or else no man will look at you twice."

She sticks her tongue at him. "I don't need any weakling who'll get in my way." Sniffing indignantly from his previous comment, the girl throws a spatula at him.

Mukuro chuckles darkly; if it were Ken…

"Stop imagining pedophilic rapist thoughts- yes, I can read your mind, Mister 'I'm-the-best-illusionist-in-the-world'." The impudent seven-year-old flips her short, purple ponytail over her shoulder as she walks away from the living room. Before she completely steps out, she turns around to spoil Mukuro's morning. "Oh, Mom wants you to help her cook today. Be of some use, you old rotten pineapple." She throws in a cheeky look before finally skipping away.

He's quite tempted to say that old and rotten are very similar in context, but he knows that she would only find other things to label him with. So he will stick with 'old' ad 'rotten'. _(Ironically, it does suit his personality. Children were scary beings; no matter what illusion you cast over them, they always managed to perceive the truth.)_

As he makes his way to the kitchen, he greets the gentle female Guardian with a light kiss on both cheeks. Chrome blushes, shyly greeting him while handing over the bowl of salad and uncooked chicken.

Sighing, Mukuro takes the food from her hands, and prepares to cook for breakfast, pondering on many other things that involved possibly poisoning the Cloud Guardian as well.

"I'll be at the backyard, Mukuro." She no longer called him 'Mukuro-sama'; though she still had retained the same respect, they were much closer and much, much older for that address.

Nodding slightly, Mukuro gives a lazy smile as he handles the poultry with a knife. "Take your time, Chrome."

When the female exits the room, the illusionist can only sigh once more. _(There are too many things that seem to trouble him lately. He just may be growing a few white hairs, like that marshmallow tyrant.) _As he throws aside the plastic gloves and begins to rub his temples, he hears her enter the kitchen.

"Hey, old man, what's taking you so long? You know chicken doesn't take that long to prepare."

Mukuro has to say, the seven-year-old really is the spitting image of his precious Chrome; and he grudgingly admits, of that aloft Cloud Guardian.

After all, had she been his child, her words would be more eloquent.

The child sighs as she walks next to the illusionist, wearing a new pair of plastic gloves as she picks up the knife from the counter.

"You really don't know how to do things except for committing mind rape, huh."

"Kufufu… My dear child, please do refrain from using that profanity; it's hardly befitting for your age."

"Mukuro, have you finished preparing the chicken? Daisuke-chan is hungry, you know." Chrome peers out from the door, with a small black-haired boy clinging to her dress.

The small girl eyes the young boy with distaste, yet unconsciously grips Mukuro's indigo dress shirt.

Mukuro's eyes flicker towards the seven-year-old; or rather, how she would have looked like by now.

"Mukuro?" Chrome calls once more, staring inquisitively at the empty space that the illusionist seemed to be gazing impassively at.

The Mist Guardian flashes his trademark smile, an act of assurance _(though it was really for himself, but he would never admit that) _before nodding as he smoothly replies, "Of course, my dear Chrome. I'll be done in a minute."

Chrome's worried eyes regain their joyous sparkle as she smiles again. "All right then, thank you, Mukuro." She and the little boy whisks out of the small kitchen, leaving the illusionist to continue his work.

"Dai-chan really grew up, didn't he." There's a small voice beside him, and Mukuro can only ruffle her head. He wants to offer a word of solace, but he'd only get beaten up.

Still, the girl never fails to kick him in the shins, albeit lighter than usual. _(She does read his mind; it scares him.)_

Mukuro masks his grimace, just like usual, and proceeds to tease the child by planting a small kiss on her forehead. "Now, don't lose your spirit, little one."

But there's a hollow look in her eyes; she replies in a bitter tone too mature for her age. "It's too late for that." She disappears once again.

.

.

.

His eyes settle on the petit body of the violet-haired girl, curled up beside him.

Surprisingly, she provides him more warmth than a phantomlike presence could.

When there's a knock on the door to his room, he slowly brushes aside the covers, careful not to wake the little girl.

"Mukuro, are you okay? You don't seem to be catching sleep these last few days." A worried Chrome peers into his room.

"I'm quite alright, my dear Chrome. Now then, hurry back to bed, lest that Cloud Guardian bites me in the morning for taking away his bride in the midst of night."

Chrome blushes, but there's an inquisitive look in her amethyst eyes _(female intuition was just as bad as that Hyper Intuition. Mukuro reckons that somehow, the girls would have made a better Don than Sawada Tsunayoshi). _

"If you want… I could call over Fran, Ken, and Chikusa…?" From her tone, he knows what she's implying.

_(But he already has company.) _

"It's fine; now scurry to your bed, Chrome."

She doesn't know of it though. Mukuro doesn't think anyone could ever find out about _her; _no matter how skilled the illusionist they could be.

When the woman slips out of her room after bidding a good night, the girl beside him shifts.

"How long are you going to keep this up?"

"…Kufufu… were you awake the whole time?"

"How can I not be? You're too loud for your own good, old man." The illusionist merely smirks, flicking the small forehead despite the annoyed response.

He collapses into bed, setting aside his thoughts about the word that he just can't seem to say. Beside him, he knows that she's also doing the very same thing.

_(After all, she was his very own figment of imagination.) _

Mukuro knows that she was the daughter of Chrome and Hibari. _(He dared not to go further into the details, lest the girl stab him during sleep. That would be unpleasant.)_

There's a certain word to describe this feeling, but Mukuro truly can't bring it to mind. He was never one for emotions, after all.

So he settles for closing his eyes, pondering for a moment whether he should dispel the illusion, but hesitates _(as usual)_ after seeing the girl's calm, sleeping face.

For now, he'll call it his own fatherly complexions.

* * *

><p>AN: Ok, that was a pretty long one-shot for me. ^.^ I hoped all of you enjoyed it; because it was Mukuro-centric ( and having not read KHR for a whole month, I'm pretty sure I lost my touch on how his personality is supposed to flow) I hope you'll forgive me for any OOCness.

Nevertheless, that girl is not a love interest, and Mukuro did not sink that low to hit on a seven-year-old; she's the child of Hibari and Chrome. I'll leave it to you to interpret what happened (though it probably doesn't take a genius to find out. :D) Thank you for reading this one-shot, my dear readers. Until the next updates!


End file.
